The Conspiracy of Benvolio
by greenhairgreeneyes
Summary: Benvolio Montague is an enigma to none but himself. A modern take on Romeo and Juliet, set in the same time period but with a very important plot twist.


**This started out as just a modern take on Romeo and Juliet, but I started to think about how Benvolio was so logical and rational throughout the story and turned it into this. Submitted for English Credit**

 **Chapter 1**

 **First Person POV, Sampson**

"Look Greg, I'm not carrying hot coals for that long just because you want to throw them in Tybalt's face," I shook my head. I mean, Gregory and I were uneducated servants, but this was just pushing the limit of my stupidity. "Like, do you see my frame? I'm not built to be a collier."

We were walking the streets of picturesque, sunny Verona, with streams of people rushing back and forth past us. I wasn't enjoying the scene as much as I normally would've. This idiot made sure of that - he'd loudly challenged me to a drinking contest back at the pub, and with people crowding around us, I'd be caught dead refusing. The contest was unceremoniously ended when Gregory almost beheaded someone on accident.

 _How unfortunate,_ I thought wryly. Although that happened, I still had a headache and could barely walk in a straight line. All I wanted to do was get to the mansion and blackmail Peter till he covered for me so I could take a nap.

Gregory's mouth made an 'O' shape. I could see the rusty cogs in his head struggling to move. "Well, I mean, we could just draw on him when he isn't looking, right? Aren't all of us Capulets supposed to be stupid? Tybalt might not notice."

I rolled my eyes. "Just because Lord Capulet tripped over his own feet at the New Year's Ball - when he was intoxicated, I might add - does not mean that Tybalt would do something that stupid," I considered for a moment. "Well, unless we swore at him or something. And why do you hate him, anyway?"

My friend frowned. I could see the frustration beginning to show itself. "Shut up, Sampson. Just because you're too scared to strike anyone doesn't mean I'm not. And Tybalt is a jerk."

I snorted. "There's a difference between being suicidal and being brave. Provoking Tybalt is probably the dumbest idea you've ever had, _road boy._ " So maybe calling him a sewer rat was a bit mean - Greg always hated wading through the muck in the middle of the road - but I wasn't in the best mood right now.

I kept walking, turning my attention to my pounding headache and the shifting of my vision as Gregory stammered out random insults that came to mind, only stopping in my gait when I spotted a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye.

Our enemies' banner. Colors blue and gray. I shot my arm out to block his path, nearly making Gregory trip. "Montagues at twelve o'clock."

Gregory paused in his rant about what species of fish I would be if I was seafood and lifted his gaze to meet our enemies'.

A large, stocky servingman seemed to part the crowds of people flooding the streets. He was bald, and his eyes were as black as basalt. _Balthasar_ , I realized. I'd seen him brawl a few times, no swords. Never had I been so glad to have a heavy sheath at my side. Standing next to him was a polar opposite. Thin and lithe, he was not nearly as tall as Balthasar and not nearly as muscled. His light blue eyes found us and intensified in a scalding glare. I knew he was a fair swordsman, but couldn't hold a candle to our kinsman Tybalt.

"Yo, yo, Sampson," Greg looked at me, snickering, and unsheathed his weapon. "My naked weapon is out."

I glared at him. "You're so immature. Here I am thinking about how Balthasar could land us in the hospital, and you're just making bad jokes."

Gregory laughed. I wanted to punch him, but maybe that was just the alcohol making me irrational. "Ha, ha, Sampson is scared. Run away from the big bad Balthasar."

I was about to reply, or maybe just stalk off, but just then Balthasar noticed Greg laughing. "Hey, Capulets." He walked closer, towering over us. "What you laughing at? Biting your thumb at us, sir?" Without warning, his fat finger poked me in the chest, hard, sending me stumbling back.

Gregory's expression changed to one of fury. He was about to speak, but I beat him to it. I was angry, and blurted something out off of the top of my head. "I _do_ bite my thumb, _sir._ "

Balthasar clenched his fists. My hand rested on top of my scabbard. Abraham stepped forward, smirking. I always hated that guy. "Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" His tone is taunting, like _I'll beat you up if you say yes and there's nothing you can do about it._ I grit my teeth.

"I don't bite my thumb at you, sir." _But you bite your thumb,_ the little voice in my head taunted me, sounding too much like Abraham for my liking.

Gregory had had enough. He was too headstrong to stay silent while I tried to be diplomatic with these brutes. He stepped forward, gaze locking on the thin servant next to Balthasar. "Hey, Abraham, wanna quarrel?"

I closed my eyes. _Stupid Greg, stupid Greg, stupid-_

"Uh, no. No, not at all, man."

I opened my eyes. _What?_ Abraham looked somewhat nervous, standing in the shadow of Gregory. I smirked at him. If looks could kill…

Made confident by Abraham's sudden fear, I spoke up. "How's Lord Montague, man? Still basking in Capulet's shadow?"

A loud crack resonated through the air. I slowly rotated my head to see Balthasar cracking his knuckles menacingly. As quickly as it had been wiped off, Abraham's smirk was back. "Careful, or you'll be in a shadowy place very soon, friend Capulet."

 _SHINK._ Greg had halfway unsheathed his sword when -

"Stop."

Greg let his fingers unclench around the metal as we turned to greet the unexpected visitor. I saw bright blue eyes, similar to Abraham's, and brown hair neatly combed to one side. On a backdrop of dusty brick buildings, dirt roads, and sunlight stood the mild Benvolio. A Montague, yes, but as even-tempered as...actually, scratch that. I didn't know anyone in Verona that's even remotely as even-tempered. He had unmarred skin, something his fellow Montagues like to make fun of. No fights, no scars for him.

"Ben," Balthasar grinned, the expression alien on his rocklike face. "How's it going?"

"Don't play innocent, Balt," Benvolio's eyes narrowed. "Part. We don't want more pointless violence."

"Make them, Benvolio." Another voice, higher and colder, echoed through the street. It seemed to bounce off the walls, razor-sharp, and leave icicles hanging off your ears. It spoke of danger, contained no mercy. I could _feel_ a chill running up and down my spine. My headache forgotten about, I turned to meet the King of Rage.

"Draw, Benvolio." Tybalt said, his brown eyes burning with unchecked wrath.


End file.
